


Enclosed

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur finally decides to make his move, he's determined to show anyone who might care that he's staking a claim.</p><p>Written for the Kinkme_Merlin prompt 'Sex with curtains around them.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enclosed

Never let it be said that Arthur ever did anything half-heartedly. When he tells Merlin, voice rough and low, that he's going to bed him, he doesn't just mean he's going to throw him up against a wall and rut wildly.

(Although Merlin wouldn't actually be averse to that, now that he comes to think about it.)

No, when Arthur says he'll bed Merlin (and he says it like a threat and a promise, and he pauses long enough with one eyebrow raised for Merlin to say no, which of course, Merlin doesn't), he means it. He waits for Merlin's assent, and then he advances, fits one hand snug onto the sharp curve of Merlin's hipbone and the other behind Merlin's neck, fingers edging into his hairline, and presses their mouths together.

Merlin has kissed, has been kissed ,before and he drapes his own arms over Arthur's shoulders and pushes back, trying to prove he's no blushing virgin (naturally, Arthur thinks he's the one with all the expertise, just because Merlin was slightly taken aback by his proposition). He opens himself up, bites Arthur's lip, tries to coax him into deepening the kiss, and is unprepared for the retaliation, the sheer heat of Arthur's response. Merlin feels a burn start low in his belly, spreading everywhere sensitive, and he wonders a little what he's got himself into. This isn't a tumble in the stables with another servant, this isn't the slow mutual caress of two friends he shared with Lancelot. This is new.

Arthur starts to untie Merlin's kerchief, then his shirt-lacings, following the firm pressure of his fingers with tiny kisses and bites, licking places he's nipped and causing Merlin to make startled noises of appreciation. Arthur looks up when Merlin gasps, and his eyes are very dark, and his mouth is very wet, and very red. Merlin looks away, suddenly feeling strange at seeing his master in so personal a situation. He has so far managed to avoid finding out what Arthur looks like in these moments - he has good hearing and the chambermaids and so forth seem to be of the opinion that they need to be appreciatively loud, so it hasn't been hard to just be extra late some mornings.

It seems wrong to be seeing the Crown Prince's face darken with lust; something he shouldn't be privy to. It isn't his business.

Arthur takes this opportunity to pull Merlin's shirt over his head. 'Look at me,' he says, his voice gently commanding, when he's done. 'Merlin, look at me.'

Merlin does so.

'Do you want me to stop?' Arthur asks. His brow furrows a little, and his fingers tighten in the fabric of Merlin's shirt as if he's steeling himself for an affirmative. Instead of answering Merlin reaches for Arthur, closes his eyes to be kissed again. He hears the soft noise of his shirt being dropped, and then Arthur's mouth is on his again. It's okay if he doesn't look. It's okay, if he just feels.

By the time they eventually reach the bed, Arthur has managed to get his own shirt off as well, and he smooths his hands over Merlin's body, fingering every crease, every crest of bone and dip and swell of muscle, before turning his attention to Merlin's breeches. Getting these off necessitates Merlin arching and wriggling, and when they eventually come off, Arthur tosses them aside and looks down.

'God, Merlin -' he says, and Merlin lurches up to undo Arthur's belt, because he doesn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. Arthur catches his hands and pushes him back down, kissing him harder this time than before. Merlin shivers at the tightness of Arthur's fingers around his wrists, the edge of teeth in Arthur's kiss, and before he knows it he's pinned by Arthur's knees trapping his hands to his sides, Arthur reaching for his own trousers.

He removes his belt calmly and slowly, and then starts to unbutton the trousers themselves, in a manner so unruffled you would never have guessed he had his naked, panting manservant trapped beneath his thighs. He has to sit back to pull the last vestiges of clothing away, and then he wads them up, tossing them out of the bed, and reaches for the curtains. The late afternoon light disappears slowly as the drapery slides around them.

When they are enclosed in a box, all red and close, light barely leaking in, Arthur leans forward again. With their breath entwining and their legs slotted together, Merlin expects Arthur to say something dark, something dirty.

'This is your last chance to say no,' is what Arthur says instead, and the way he quivers like a greyhound yearning for the chase makes Merlin swallow hard.

'Not on your life,' he replies, and Arthur sinks to one side, drawing Merlin with him and running a hand down his ribs. They are face to face, but the lack of light in the four-poster bed makes it hard to see anything but movement, a flash of colour or texture here or there.

Arthur's hands continue to explore, as Merlin's wind themselves behind Arthur's head and into his hair. He finds Merlin's collarbones, the sparse hair over his sternum, the ridge of his spine and the very beginning of the crease of his arse, and he encourages one of Merlin's legs to lie heavily over his own.

'I have wanted this,' Arthur says, playing with the tight line of Merlin's thigh and buttock, encouraging him to rut, 'for years. Years. I watched you flirt with bloody stableboys, and I saw you with Lancelot, and I had to keep biting my tongue.' He takes this opportunity to bite Merlin's throat lightly, and then trail his hand up over Merlin's leg to the hot, damp place between their bodies, and Merlin really can't keep the noise in any longer. He tries to stifle it, wants to be seemly and proper as a bed-partner, doesn't want Arthur to know he's only really good for rolling in haystacks with, but then Arthur bites harder, strokes faster, and says 'No, come on, I want to hear you,'

Merlin obliges, feeling Arthur push against him every time he makes a noise, and when he tries to worm a hand down to reciprocate he's rebuffed. In fact, Arthur actually gets up, startling a despairing noise from Merlin's throat, but he apparently just wants to retrieve something from outside the curtains. A sliver of light comes through when he parts the cloth, catching the gold in his dishevelled hair and cutting a slash of brightness down over his muscled back, and Merlin shivers at the sight.

Arthur rolls back though, and the curtains close, and once again Merlin just has this sightless sensation of someone looking at him. He tries to sit and catch Arthur close again, wants to kiss him, but Arthur carefully pushes him back into the pillows and slides back to lie between his legs.

'I'm going to do something,' Arthur says carefully, fiddling with whatever it is he's picked up from outside, 'and I want you to tell me what it feels like,'

With that, he slides an exploratory finger, wet with something slick and cool, along Merlin's arse. Merlin nearly chokes on his own tongue at the sensation. It's not the first time someone's had their fingers there, but Merlin is used to spit and time-consuming, painfully slow pushing and pulling, at least until impatience takes over and he doesn't care about the burn compared to the other feeling. This is different, less desperate, more ... more Arthur, all precision and planning.

'It-' Merlin manages, trying to be articulate, which is hard with someone's blunt, broad fingertip breaching you. 'It feels-'

'Tell me,' Arthur says urgently. He rocks a little further in, up to the first knuckle. Merlin grunts.

'How do you think?' he asks instead of answering, voice tight in his throat. 'Like you've got your finger up my arse.'

That startles a laugh out of Arthur, and Merlin relaxes a fraction. Arthur then takes that opportunity to push further in, making Merlin's back arch involuntarily as he brushes somewhere very deep and darkly secret. Merlin exhales hard, shakily, biting his lip.

'We're alone in here,' Arthur points out, and he has two fingers in now, the oily preparation he has been using running down the back of Merlin's buttocks, probably making a terrible mess on the bed. 'I didn't think you'd be one to hold your tongue.'

'Your door,' Merlin points out, teeth gritted against the flood of noise he can feel building up against his defenses, 'is not as sound-proof as you think.'

Arthur doesn't answer, instead leaves his hands where they are and leans forward to mouth the head of Merlin's erection. That's too much, and Merlin, taken by surprise, moans deep in his belly. Despite the fact that he can't see that much in the low light, Merlin has the distinct impression Arthur is smirking when he says 'I don't particularly care.'

Merlin cares, because if the other servants think he's bending over for the Crown Prince he'll never hear the end of it in snide remarks and carefully calculated lack of respect, and also he'll never get so much as a sidelong glance from a girl ever again in his _life_ , but he has to admit, Arthur is good at this, fingers smoothing in and out of him in a delicate mockery of the real point of this exercise, lipping and mouthing at Merlin whenever he thinks he's getting complacent, and it makes it hard to keep quiet, let alone silent, when you're being played like a fish. Try as he might, he can't keep it all inside, and he notices, as he grunts and gasps, that Arthur does likewise.

'Having fun?' he asks, as shit-stirringly as he can, at one point, and Arthur rumbles assent. Merlin notices that his eyes are adjusting to the gloom, that he can see Arthur moving against the sheets, little aborted jerks of his hips, and realises he's getting as close as Merlin is. 'Arthur,' he says, letting more of how much want he feels bleed through, 'Please, now. Please?'

It's typical, really, that as Arthur starts to slowly, slowly push himself into Merlin, Adam's apple taut, a long, drawn-out sound of apppreciation on his lips, and Merlin himself feeling the stretch, feeling it's not enough, locking his hands around the small of Arthur's back and goading him on, 'Come on, Arthur, come on, I want it, please, _please_ , just _do_ it-' that someone knocks.

They both freeze, Arthur not fully seated where they both want him to be. The knock comes again, and Merlin grits his teeth and swears violently at whoever it is, threatening dire things and nasty curses if they don't _go away right now_ , and then, horror of horrors, they _come in_.

Merlin's discomfort must show in his face, or something, because Arthur looks down at him and grins, and starts to move again, slow and quiet.

It's like torture, with Merlin actually biting his tongue (he thought that was just something people said, not something you'd ever actually _do_ ) and Arthur rolling his hips tidal-slow, making his way in incrementally, and somewhere out beyond the curtains some chambermaid or other pottering around and, by the sounds, which Merlin is straining to hear, apparently changing the towels and the water in Arthur's ewer.

She can't have been in the room more than ten seconds but she's ramped up the tension in Merlin so much, he feels hard as a rock, desperate for release already, and Arthur's not helping. Merlin swears the intruder must be able to hear the slick, wet noises of their coupling, they sound unspeakably loud and obscene to him, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

Arthur is nudging the same place in Merlin over and over now, he's found his rhythm and Merlin's weak spot perfectly, unerringly, and he knows it too, damn him. Faster and faster he snaps his hips, sliding one hand down between their bodies to wrap around Merlin, bracing himself with just one arm, corded muscles standing out, sweat-sheened and perfect.

'Merlin,' Arthur whispers, his breath stirring the hair curling damply around Merlin's ear, and Merlin shivers. 'Merlin,' he says again. 'What if she can hear us?'

Merlin clamps his jaws shut just in time to turn a moan into a choked noise, and the footsteps outside pause suspiciously.

'Would you like that?' Arthur asks lasciviously. 'If she could hear me take you apart? If she heard you come, loud and hard, like I want you to? I don't care, you see, if they know you're mine, because it saves me having to punish the next person who looks at you.'

Arthur sounds almost vicious, self-satisfied, possessive. Merlin turns his head aside, tries to get some focus back. He does _not_ want to be any more the talk of the servant's wing.

'I want them to know, Merlin. I want them to hear you getting fucked by me. I want them to hear you _loving it_ , because you're mine, d'you hear me?' Arthur bites Merlin's earlobe. Despite apparently wanting to declare his interest in Merlin to the entire populace, Arthur is still whispering. Merlin _will not_ be the wanton in this situation. He's close, he knows he is, Arthur clearly knows he is, but he would rather cut out his own tongue than be heard screaming for Arthur's enormous manhood like the village whore.

'Let go,' Arthur urges him, the sound of his voice shivering down Merlin's spine. 'Let go. Come on, Merlin, for me, come for me-' It turns into a chant, a plea, still quiet as breathing, in Merlin's ear, and he's only human.

Thankfully, when he comes (whiich he does, blindingly hard, gaspingly fast), he doesn't make a sound above a sharply-inhaled breath, but Arthur, after another roll of his hips, moans 'Merlin....', and then sags bonelessly into Merlin, his forehead nestling under Merlin's collarbone. He grunts appreciatively.

There is a sudden, shocked noise, and the sound of the chamber door banging shut.


End file.
